


Anomalies (Or: Something that makes a lot of sense)

by SquaresAreNotCircles



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Outsider, Steve McGarrett's Pancake Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquaresAreNotCircles/pseuds/SquaresAreNotCircles
Summary: Usually, Rick heads straight for the table in the corner where some of the other locals are bound to show up, but this time, he can’t help but take a spot at the bar instead, a safe number of empty seats between him and Tall, Dark and Oh-God-Those-Are-Tattoos.Or: A guy called Rick tries to chat up a guy called Steve in a bar, but is interrupted by a third guy, who happens to be blond and very outspoken.
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 26
Kudos: 416





	Anomalies (Or: Something that makes a lot of sense)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kit0392](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit0392/gifts).

> Last week I asked for prompts on Tumblr, and I got a bunch of them! :D This is a fill for a prompt from [Kit0392](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit0392) ([purecanesugar](https://purecanesugar.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr), which I will put in the end notes.
> 
> The title is from a quote by Mohnish Pabrai, who is a billionaire businessman who after some googling seems to have been talking about how to get wealthy through investments (which you will most certainly not learn from this fic), but I encountered the quote completely out of context and liked it that way: “We have to do what I would call anomalies. We have to look for strange things that show up once in a while. They don’t show up all the time. We have to be scanning the horizon and doing that, once in a while something will show up that makes a lot of sense, and then you act on it.”

Rick works in an office. It’s a reliable nine to five job, the pay is alright, the colleagues are pretty nice and the boss is not horrible. It’s fine. He’s grown to appreciate the rhythm of it.

It’s also _really_ boring. If you look at it that way, it’s no surprise that when he decides to go get a drink after work at that place close to his apartment and there’s a really hot, really intimidating stranger sitting at the bar, it’s probably the most interesting thing that’s happened to him all week. Usually, Rick heads straight for the table in the corner where some of the other locals are bound to show up, but this time, he can’t help but take a spot at the bar instead, a safe number of empty seats between him and Tall, Dark and Oh-God-Those-Are-Tattoos. They peak out from under the sleeves of his plain black T-shirt, like a tiny preview to get the mind spinning and imagine what’s _under_ that shirt.

The bartender on duty is Keahi, who is new, but already by far Rick’s favorite. Rick signals to him and Keahi gives him a smile, a beer and a quick hello, but there are other people vying for his attention and he can’t hang around for a real chat. That’s a shame, because Keahi always has the best stories and a really captivating way of telling them.

Rick goes back to stealing glances at the stranger. He’s still doing that and wondering if he should go over there (while knowing that he shouldn’t because there’s no way in hell they’re in the same league), when the guy employs some kind of sixth sense, realizes he’s being watched and looks right back at Rick. It’s a shock when their eyes meet, to say the least. Rick looks down at his beer, but it’s way too late, and he divines from the foam that the damage is done now anyway. He’s got nothing to lose, so he grabs his glass and gets off the stool.

The guy is still watching him unreadably when Rick steps up to him. Rick tries for his best smile and hopes it doesn’t come out tremulous. “Hey. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Ah.” The guy relaxes. His shoulders drop an inch, like he was braced for something that’s not happening, and Rick figures that might be a good thing. He wasn’t trying to be a threat. The guy taps the neck of his own beer bottle. “Thanks, but I’m covered.”

“Well, can I join you, at least?”

Hot guy smiles a bit, but only vaguely. “Free country.” 

Rick has no brain space to dedicate to deciphering what that means, because he gets distracted by the way the guy’s throat moves when he takes a pull from his beer. He’s pretty sure those words weren’t a refusal, so he sits down. He offers a hand. “Rick.”

The guy shakes his hand. “Steve. Hi. Listen, I’m here-”

“What do you do?” Rick blurts. He doesn’t mean to talk right over Steve, but he wasn’t prepared for Steve to try to say something other than his name, because until now he seemed like the strong, silent type. The words just flop out, unstoppable.

Steve doesn’t seem horribly offended, but he does pause for just a second before he says, “Law enforcement.”

“Oh,” Rick says. He’s not sure whether he should be relaxing too – conversation, this is a conversation they’re having and Steve is going along with it – or whether that should make him kind of nervous. Cops tend to bring that out in him even when he’s done nothing wrong. “That’s cool. That explains why you’re in such great shape.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. He’s about to say something else – something good, Rick hopes – when he’s interrupted for the second time in a minute.

Not by Rick, this time, but by some guy a head shorter than either of them who definitely makes more use of his gym membership than Rick does and has combed-back, blond hair. He hops on the barstool at Steve’s other side and grins almost wolfishly. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve stares at the blond guy for a moment and Rick thinks that maybe he’ll see blond guy getting rebuffed, which would be a hell of an ego boost. That doesn’t happen. Instead, the corner of Steve’s mouth twists like it wants to go up but he’s forcibly keeping it down, and he says with a heavy layer of irony that completely throws Rick for a loop, “Hello, stranger.”

The stranger waggles his eyebrows at Steve, no lie. It’s incredibly tacky. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Steve hmms. “Now that you mention it, you do have a familiar look about you.”

“Hey,” Rick says, more confused than anything. He can’t believe he’s being ignored in favor of a guy who swept in out of nowhere with pick-up lines that sound like the setup of a bad joke. “We were talking.”

Blond guy does a terrible job of faking embarrassed surprise. He puts a hand to his chest like he’s the heroine in a period piece clutching her pearls. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Instead of backing off, like any reasonable person would, he leans in closer, plants an elbow on the bar and rests his cheek in his hand. “I wasn’t aware I was interrupting something important. Please, continue.”

Rick stares at him. “Uh.” 

“No, really. I’d love to watch you chat up this guy. Maybe I could learn a thing or two about animal handling.”

“Aw,” Steve says, showing no hint of offence at what is, pretty clearly, an insult. “You’re just saying that to be sweet.”

“I’m a very sweet guy,” blond guy agrees. He puts a hand on Steve’s arm and Steve lets him. “And you know what? I also make really sweet pancakes.”

“You do, do you? Banana chocolate chip?”

“Sure. How about I make you breakfast tomorrow morning, huh, stud?”

“Hey,” Rick says again, but weakly. He doesn’t know when his admittedly meager chance started slipping through his fingers, but he can see that it’s definitely hit the floor by now.

“Alright,” Steve says to blond guy, so easily it’s suspicious. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Rick gapes at them a bit as they make to get up from their stools. To add further insult to injury, the blond guy pulls out his wallet and leaves money on the bar to pay for Steve’s drink, and Steve lets him without a look and with barely even a glance. Rick notes that blond guy leaves a good tip for Keahi, which makes him waver for a second in his dislike of the guy, but in the end the money is still further proof that there’s something fishy going on. “Do you two know each other?”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” the blond guy deadpans. He does it so effectively that Rick still isn’t sure whether that’s a yes or a no.

“Well- I-” He has no clue how to end that sentence, because there doesn’t seem to be any way to do it without making a fool of himself.

Steve pats him on the shoulder consolingly. “Nothing personal. I just have an inexplicable weak spot for short mouthy guys.”

“And pancakes,” blond guy says.

“And pancakes,” Steve agrees. “Definitely pancakes. Mostly the pancakes, really.”

“Oh,” the blond guy says on a laugh. He slides in uncomfortably close to Steve, but yet again Steve just lets it happen, even when blond guy sticks a hand in Steve’s pants pocket with no warning and unearths a set of car keys. “You’re going to pay for that when we get to your place,” the guy says, and he’s so close Steve must feel warm breath on his jaw. Blond guy dangles the keys in front of Steve’s face for a moment while Steve just keeps grinning down at him, and then he turns and walks off, taking the keys with him.

At this point, Rick really hopes they know each other. Either that, or he just saw the strangest, easiest, hottest car theft in history. 

In which the thief paid for his victim’s beer and a tip first. Huh.

It seems to be fine, though, or maybe Steve is just so into small, musclebound blond men who push him around that he’s willing to lose his car over it, because he gives Rick a last jaunty wave and lopes off after his conquest. The guy who conquered him. One of those two.

Rick watches them until they disappear through the door and then turns back to the bar and contemplates life. He doesn’t get very far in his contemplations before Keahi pushes a fresh beer his way. “On the house,” he says. “Wanna talk about it?”

Rick smiles in acknowledgement and thanks. He empties a third of the glass before he answers. “Not really.”

Keahi nods with sympathy. “Well,” he says philosophically, “those pancakes must have been really damn good if he turned you down for them. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

This, Rick will easily admit, is one of the reasons he’s been coming here more than usual lately. He manages a grin, which seemed unlikely just a moment ago. “Thanks.”

Keahi grins back and returns to his other customers. Rick gazes after him for a bit, wondering all over again, but there’s no way he’s going to make another first move tonight. Definitely not on someone who’s working and is probably just doing their job and is also, definitely, very much out of his league.

Then he looks down to grab his beer again, and he almost drops it when he realizes there’s a phone number scrawled on the paper napkin it came on. He snaps his head up and there’s Keahi, at the other end of the bar, looking at him kind of nervously. Rick smiles almost on reflex – that’s something seeing Keahi’s face seems to make him want to do regardless of anything – and Keahi beams back.

Okay, so no more first moves tonight. A second one might be okay, though, because maybe the crazy pancake people have brought him something good after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt from [purecanesugar on Tumblr](https://purecanesugar.tumblr.com/): “Steve or Danny getting hit on and the other sliding in like "you thought!" Or the person hitting on knows they're taken and the bartender checks them.” I’m not sure how well this fit in the end (I’ve discovered I’m not very good at writing jealousy fic), but the general idea is there, and there’s definitely a bartender!
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Comments are (something I am woefully behind on responding to _and_) what makes the world go round. ❤
> 
> I’m on Tumblr as [itwoodbeprefect](https://itwoodbeprefect.tumblr.com), or with my exclusively H50 (and mostly McDanno) sideblog as [five-wow](https://five-wow.tumblr.com).


End file.
